


Eng 524: Explorations in Young Adult Literature

by justanothersong



Series: Chili Pepper 'Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Literature is Hot, M/M, Professor Castiel, Professor Dean Winchester, Supernatural AU: Not Hunters, Teacher Castiel, Teacher Dean Winchester, Young Adult Literature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 13:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/pseuds/justanothersong
Summary: Sometimes, though, it wasn’t just the thrill of the journey or the magic of a new world that a book gifted to its reader. Sometimes, Dean relented, it was sadness, and pain.





	

It was the escapism that had really made Dean fall in love with literature, even as a child. The wordplay, the heart in it, yes that did help, but the ability to fall so deeply into a world someone else created had captivated him almost from the first moment he had learned to read.

He had followed a neurotic cat’s crazy quest to subdue a vampiric bunny.

He had survived in the wilderness with little more than a hatchet at his side.

He had circled the globe with Odysseus, trying to find his way home.

He had found the key to the Secret Garden with Mistress Mary, and run away to live in a New York City museum with Claudia and Jamie. 

Books gave him escape and adventure that he could never find in his daily routine, and Dean loved it.

Sometimes, though, it wasn’t just the thrill of the journey or the magic of a new world that a book gifted to its reader. Sometimes, Dean relented, it was sadness, and pain.

After about seventh grade or so, he had started avoiding anything with a dog on the cover. _Old Yeller_ and _Where the Red Fern Grows_ had left him a little too misty-eyed in the classroom, and it wasn’t an experience he wished to repeat. What he hadn’t realized, though, until that very summer, was that Castiel’s somewhat cloistered years spent with his fervently religious aunt had caused the man to miss out on some of the best of childhood and young adult literature -- a very big issue, it turned out, when Castiel was asked to teach a seminar course on young adult writing in the coming fall.

“I have a lot of catching up to do,” Castiel lamented over one Sunday dinner with Dean’s family.

Mary Winchester paused in doling out another heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes onto his plate and thought for a moment before saying, “Why don’t you and Dean go up to his room later, take some of his old books with you? I swear he kept everything he ever read, I’m sure there would be a few things you’d be able to use.”

The mashed potatoes his Castiel’s plate with a satisfying plop, and he nodded. “That’s a very good idea, thank you, Mary,” he said mildly.

“Ma” she reminded him with a wink.

Castiel gave her a gummy grin. “Ma,” he agreed.

 

They drove home that night with a fully packed trunk, boxes of books for Castiel to read as well as old picture books and Disney tomes for Alfie that Mary had insisted they take along.

“Oh, Aunt Mary, I can’t,” Hael had said, shaking her head. “You’re too generous, it’s too much…!” Just the week prior, Mary had found a box of old clothing, vintage sundresses that were suddenly in vogue again, and they had fit Hael perfectly. It seemed they never came to dinner anymore without bringing something home.

Dean’s father had taken a road trip to a baseball game not long ago and come back with hats and t-shirts for the entire family. Hael had laughed when John Winchester plopped a Chicago Cubs hat on little Alfie’s head and announced loudly, “Gotta start’em young.”

It didn’t take long for her to see why Castiel loved the Winchesters as fiercely as he loved Dean; it was a sentiment she had begun to share not long after they had welcomed her in with open arms.

 

Once home and Alfie put to bed, the little boy exhausted after hours spent climbing on his personal human jungle gym, ‘Unca’ Sam’, Hael joined Dean and Castiel in the kitchen as her cousin spread out the varied paperbacks he had procured on the table, arranging them in a manner making sense only to him. Hael recognized some of the titles, though she realized all too quickly that she too had missed out on a lot of reading as a young teen.

“Most of these were on Mother’s ban list,” she mused, shaking her head as her eyes drifted from one colorful book cover to another. 

Dean shook his head, turning on the kitchen tap to fill the silver teapot from the stove, and snorted. It had become something of an evening ritual to set the kettle to boil after returning from Sunday dinners at his parents’ house; Mary Winchester was an old-school cook, often preparing heavy meals full of all of the delicious, buttery, carb-laden things that tended to settle like a brick in Dean’s stomach. Peppermint tea in the evenings tended to soothe the savage gastric beast, and he enjoyed the quiet time with Castiel and Hael.

He placed the teapot on the stove and returned to the table, crossing his arms over his chest as he surveyed the quarry Castiel had looted from his childhood bedroom. Cocking an eyebrow, he glanced up at Hael.

“Really?” Dean asked her. “What’s so unholy about _Hatchet_?”

“Violent,” Hael replied with a shrug. “Anything involving children acting in their own interests or without parental supervision made her list.”

“So that’ll knock out _The Outsiders_ too,” Dean mused. “What about _Where The Red Fern Grows_? Can’t be much she’d object to in that.”

Castiel snorted. “Don’t be so sure. Aunt Naomi could find a damning flaw in a Christmas pageant if she looked hard enough.”

“Revering animals at the same level as people,” Hael said, picking up the slim volume that Dean had suggested; the cover featured a young boy holding a lantern, and two hunting dogs standing beside him in the wilderness. “Oh, I remember this one, too. I wanted to read it but she said no, there was too much importance placed on the life of a ‘mindless creature’, and commentary on cruelty in hunting and everything.”

“Aunt Naomi believes that man has free reign over all creatures of the earth,” Castiel explained dryly, shaking his head. “That cruelty to animals doesn’t exist because they aren’t intelligent or important enough to actually perceive pain or stress.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a real piece of work,” he said. “Jesus. How messed up do you have to be to think kicking a dog or something is okay?”

“I think it’s a form of narcissism,” Hael offered, surprising both men in the kitchen. “She makes herself feel more important by putting everyone else down.” She didn’t speak much on her mother, and rarely in such startlingly frank terms. 

Noting their surprise, she smiled. “My therapist is helping me see things a little more clearly,” she admitted. “Castiel, I’d like to read this, if you don’t mind.”

Castiel’s expression softened. “Of course, Haely,” he agreed, never one to deny his young cousin anything he could give her.

Dean chuckled. “You’ll wanna get some tissues before you dive into that one, kiddo,” he warned, then looked out over the rest of the novels spread out on the table. “Actually, we may as well just get stock in Kleenex. A lot of these are tearjerkers.”

Rising as the teapot began to whistle, Castiel smiled. “I think we’ll manage,” he said.

 

It turned out that Dean had been right in his concern. Over the next few days, it seemed each time he turned around he encountered either Hael or Castiel with their nose in a paperback and tears in their eyes. He had taken to stopping for a fresh box of tissues or two on his way home from teaching his summer courses, often finding one of them in need as he walked in the door.

A little concerned over Hael’s heartbreak after reading _Where the Red Fern Grows_ (as well as her follow-up assertion that they really should adopt a dog or two), Dean hid his copies of _Old Yeller_ , _Shiloh_ , and _Sounder_ , steering Hael instead towards _The Member of the Wedding_ and _To Kill a Mockingbird_.

She still cried an awful lot, but at least she wasn’t surfing Petfinder between chapters.

Though Dean had developed a problem of looking up local beagle rescues and taking his mother’s pudgy beagle mix, Abbey, for long weekends. Just to get a feel for it. Just in case.

 

Dean stayed late on campus the following Friday, strong-armed into attending a lecture on forensic psychology held by one of his friends in the psych department, Jo Harvelle. He knew that she was pushing to introduce a course on legal psychology into her department’s curriculum, and as getting as many butts into seats at a free lecture as she could would do well to further her cause.

Besides, Dean figured he owed her, in the long run. She’d been his campus guide when he first started teaching at the university, and had been the one to introduce him to Castiel. That was a gift in itself.

When he finally returned home -- because, of course, after the reception and refreshments following the lecture, Jo had demanded he join her and some of her favorite students at a bar for drinks -- the house was dark. The only light burning was in the window of the bedroom he shared with Castiel, the upper levels dark, implying that Hael was already asleep.

Castiel was in bed, sitting up against the headboard, reading glasses perched on his nose and an open paperback in his hands. His eyes were red-rimmed and Dean could tell that whatever it was he had been reading had really gotten to him.

Castiel pretended otherwise. “Hello Dean,” he called in a low, amiable tone.

“Heya Cas,” Dean replied, unable to stop the small smile from quirking to his lips at Castiel’s greeting. Even disheveled, messy-haired, and wearing nothing but a pair of dark blue boxers, Castiel greeted him as formally as if they were simply colleagues nodding at each other in a crowded university corridor.

God help him, but Dean loved his dork of a partner, for this and so many other odd little mannerisms.

“How as Jo’s lecture?” Castiel asked.

“Surprisingly interesting,” Dean relented, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it into the hamper. “I think she’s got a real shot at getting it in for the Spring semester. Place was packed.”

Castiel nodded. “People are drawn to the macabre,” he agreed. “I forgot it was tonight, or I might have gone to campus with you this afternoon and stayed on as well.”

“You should have come,” Dean agreed with a nod. He slipped out of his jeans and left them in a denim puddle on the floor, until he felt Castiel’s glare on his back and scooped them up to toss into the hamper. He offered the other man a cheeky grin as he crawled onto the bed, earning a roll of Castiel’s eyes that was completely overshadowed by the smirk he tried to hide.

Dean pulled the thin summer blanket over himself and twisted and maneuvered himself on the mattress until he had his head laying in Castiel’s lap, sighing contentedly as the other man began running his long fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Met this kid there, one of Jo’s TA’s,” Dean announced, trying to sound casual.

“Is that so?” Castiel teased, eyes on the pages of the book in his hand. “Should I be worried?”

Dean snorted. “Nice kid, really sharp,” he went on, ignoring Castiel’s remark. “A little young for a grad student but he had all those AP classes in high school and barrelled through his undergrad in no time.”

“Oh?” Castiel asked, brow knit in confusion.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, nodding as best he could with his head laid across Castiel’s lap. “Name’s Kevin. Like I said, nice kid, grew up with a kind pushy mom, you know. Thought he and Haely might hit it off.”

“Aha,” Castiel said slowly, scratching his nails in the short dark blonde hairs at the base of Dean’s neck where he knew that the other man liked it, drawing out a contented sigh. “So we’re trying to play matchmaker now?”

“She needs to get out more with people her own age,” Dean replied, even as he closed his eyes and nuzzled closer to the warmth of Castiel’s body.

Castiel didn’t speak, but continued his ministrations against Dean’s scalp, smiling softly to himself at each pleased sigh and content purr it drew out of the other man.

“Mmhmm,” he more or less agreed, as uncommitted as possible, and returned his attention more fully to the book in his free hand. 

 

Dean drifted somewhere in the comfortable haze just outside of sleep, eyes closed and enjoying Castiel’s touch. He was warm and relaxed enough that the world slipped away, and all he was left with were feelings of peace and home. He might have dropped off to sleep entirely, if he hadn’t felt the change in Castiel’s posture and the subtle shaking that happened now and again, interspersed with the far-off sound of Castiel sniffling just the slightest bit.

When Dean blinked his eyes open he had to squint, even in the low light of the bedside lamp, until his eyes adjusted and he could see clearly. Castiel was on the last pages of the book he had been reading, the hand that had formerly been playing with Dean’s hair holding a balled-up tissue, his eyes red and a few stray tears having slipped down his cheeks.

Dean rubbed at his eyes with the base of his palms, and sighed. “What happened?” he asked jokingly. “Did the Tuck’s find Winnie’s grave?”

“He died,” Castiel choked out, and as he tore his eyes away from the page, Dean noticed the true depth of grief on his face. “I didn’t think… I mean I knew they’d never, not in a mid-century novel, but I didn’t… I didn’t think Finny would die.”

Dean’s eyes widened and he sat up quickly, pulling the slim paperback copy of _A Separate Peace_ from Castiel’s hands; he hadn’t realized what the other man was reading, might have stopped him or at least warned him if he did. 

“Shit, Cas, I’m sorry,” he muttered, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I didn’t even know we’d grabbed that one, it… I know it’s kind of a harsh read, there at the end…”

And Dean did know. He had encountered the John Knowles novel at an age when he was still grappling with is own sexuality, unsure of who or what he was for a time. He identified a little too hard with Gene and saw his close friendship with Finny in a way others in his class did not. He had received his best grade of the year on the paper that came out of it, and a note from a kindly teacher letting Dean know that if he ever needed to talk, Ms. Barnes was more than willing to listen. 

“The author just dismisses it so easily,” Castiel muttered, sniffling still in Dean’s arms. “As if anyone couldn’t see… they loved each other, didn’t they, Dean? Gene and Finny?”

Dean nodded. “I thought so,” he agreed, voice going thick with emotion at memory of the novel. “It, uh… it just wasn’t a time or a place that people could deal with that sort of thing.”

“That could have been me,” Castiel said, voice low and pained. “I was just like him, just like Gene. I hated them for making me want them. I hated myself for wanting it at all.”

Dean swallowed hard. “But you made it out,” he told him, rubbing slow circles on Castiel’s back. “Made it out to me, didn’t you? S’all that matters now.”

“‘When you really love something, than it loves you back, in whatever way it has to love’*,” Castiel quoted softly, voice sounding a little far-off. “I suppose that has to be true, doesn’t it?”

Dean ducked down and kissed him on the forehead. “Maybe,” he agreed. “I think all that really matters, when somebody loves ya, is what you do with it, you know?”

Castiel smiled, thinking of all that Dean had done for him since they met, and the way the Winchesters had become part and parcel of what they shared, welcoming Castiel into their family like another son, his own distant family members now part of their own.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against Dean’s chest, reaching out even without seeing to run his fingers along some of the words tattooed on Dean’s side: your hand on my chest.

Whatever their pasts held didn’t matter, after all. All that mattered was what they did with the love they shared.

**Author's Note:**

> Novels alluded to without mention of title, in order, are:
> 
> Bunnicula  
> Hatchet  
> The Odyssey  
> The Secret Garden  
> From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs Basil E Frankweiler  
> Tuck Everlasting
> 
>  
> 
> "A Separate Peace" is commonly taught at jr high/freshman levels, though I didn't encounter it until college, where it promptly broke my heart. Some people argue against a queer reading of the novel, but I think they're idiots. 
> 
> Line quoted from:  
> Knowles, John. A Separate Peace. New York: Scribner, 2003. Print.


End file.
